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Arts & Entertainment

Dressy For Successy

Attention, indie head-bobbers! Dressy Bessy's self-titled album, their third release, is one of the catchiest albums of the year.

by JOHN CARROLL

Fall Music Preview

Dave Matthews, Some Devil, September 23 (RCA) Choosing to leave the band out of his name and album, Dave Matthews embarks on the tricky path of creating a solo album.

by ZACH SMITH

The hair, my God the hair!

Robert Rodriguez knows what he is doing, whether it be as director, producer, editor, or one of the many other titles he takes on in his latest and final installment of the "El Mariachi" trilogy.

by EUGENIA SALVO

American cheese

American Wedding is our generation's ultimate love story: the marriage of a pervert and his nymphomaniac lover.

by ABBY NATELSON

Crazy Japanese pseduo-porn

Eh. You'd expect something different than what you get from a film about the Japanese porn industry titled Bastoni - The Stick Handlers. Come on, The Stick Handlers? This should have been a Porky's-type film that, instead of a de facto softcore porn, was actually porn mixed with comedy. Instead, we get a movie that is actually rather a sad story.

by DANIEL MCQUADE

C'mon, feel the angst

For the music snob, the first concert occupies a sacred space. Whether awful or amazing, we remember that first show, be it grooving to New Kids on the Block or sitting with your parents, suffering through a James Taylor set.

by ROSS CLARK

Dismemberment disbanded

Every advertisement was billing it as the Dismemberment Plan's last show ever but when lead singer Travis Morrison walked on stage after Engine Down's serviceable opening set, he set the record straight on the "big fat lie." Turns out that the Plan had one more show, in their hometown of Washington, D.C.

by JOHN CARROLL

Kelly, where are you?

I knew little to nothing about The Used before writing this review. I knew lead singer Bert McCracken dated Kelly Osborne and throws up on stage, or something like that.

by DANIEL MCQUADE

Time to relapse

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Fuck Nirvana. Credit where credit is due, the real impetus for the alt-rock revolution of the early 1990's wasn't Seattle and Nirvana.

by ALEX KOPPELMAN

Guilty Pleasure

It's time to face facts: I'm hopelessly addicted to chick flicks. As emasculating and pathetic as that sounds, I really do think it has left me with some insight into the fairer sex.

by 34TH STREET

Guilty pleasure

Oh man, this one's bad. To you, Linkin Park may be just another top 40 Nu-Metal act, fodder for Y-100.

by 34TH STREET

Weathering the storm

Sure, they lay their dark vocals over sugary pop music, but Guster's true appeal lies in their percussionist, Brian "Thundergod" Rosenworcel.

by JOHN CARROLL

Guilty Pleasure

The first time I heard "Victory" from Puff Daddy's No Way Out I got so energized that I went to the gym.

by 34TH STREET

New Michelle Branch CD Review



by DANIEL MCQUADE

Tune in

In 1988, a band called Avant Garde was trying to make waves in the metal scene, lead by singer Kevin Ridel and guitarist Rivers Cuomo.

by JOHN CARROLL

Spell me a river

In the age of spell check and Internet slang, it's shocking to find those remaining few who still avidly read, study, and worship that old friend, the dictionary.

by ABBY NATELSON

Digging in the crates

Hip-Hop musicians have never felt a particular tie to the album format. Some purists might have a problem with that, but in some cases, it can work out quite well.

by ALEX KOPPELMAN

Guilty Pleasure

I used to write song lyrics in the love letters I would write to my girlfriend senior year of high school. The lyrics were never anything really important, they were from something like Blink 182's "Going Away To College," but I thought I was poet laureate of Northeast Philadelphia. I miss doing that.

by 34TH STREET

Surprisingly angelic

I felt a bit defensive tonight. At some point in every conversation I've had, I had to throw up my arms in a mock defensive posture and say, "No, really, I'm not kidding.

by ALEX KOPPELMAN

Mile high clubmile high club

It seems the French have a little longing for America in them after all. It's true--we may have taken their fries, their toast, even their kisses, but after one viewing of Jet Lag, there's no denying that they want to steal something from us: a quality Hollywood-esque romantic comedy.

by ABBY NATELSON

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